


Bi Bi Baby

by reinadefuego



Category: The 100 (TV), The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Background Relationships, Community: femslashficlets, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Femslash, Ficlet, Mentions of Death, Mercenaries, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 05:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinadefuego/pseuds/reinadefuego
Summary: Clarke doesn't really want to have to save a bunch of old men, but it's a job, and she can't just let Lexa do all the work. Unfortunately, the mercenary business may very well ruin her relationship.Written for challenge 075 - "crossover" at femslashficlets.





	1. Chapter 1

"Heda, you in?" Luna said, watching the hotel's main entrance. It'd been one minute since Lexa went inside.

"Give her time, Luna," Maggie hissed into her earwig. She'd allow her some impatience, but Lexa _wasn't _Thorn. They all had their skill sets, and stealth was Lexa's. Slow and steady would get them closer to Ross and his friends than going in guns blazing would.

"You can do this, baby," Clarke murmured into her throat mic, adjusting the position of baseball cap to cover her eyes better. She reached for her mug of tea and took a sip, unfolding the local paper with her other hand and pretending to read it. The ring on her right middle finger with its thin pink, purple and blue stripes glinted in the sun, Lexa's named engraved on the inside. "I can't believe you conned us into rescuing a group of old men, Mags."

"Just think of the paycheck, and the favours Church will owe you."

Ugh, she really didn't want to, but being owed a favour — or seven, one for each of the oldies — by a slimy skeezy CIA agent wasn't a bad trade. Clarke glanced up, watching as a sedan pulled up outside the hotel. _Oh shit._That wasn't good.

Four figures in suits stepped out, impeccably dressed in shiny loafers and brand new Armani suits. A white brunette woman stepped out from the back first, followed two white men, and a young Hispanic guy with bronze sun-kissed skin and a black mohawk. So he was kinda cute too, not that she planned on voicing her thoughts. Mr Mohawk had a large long lump under his jacket. The tallest seemed to keep checking his watch, and the other looked like he'd just palmed a ceramic knife.

"Lexa, get out, now!" Clarke hissed, standing up and turning to push her chair in. A chill ran down her spine as she watched the woman with her peripheral vision. There was something off-putting about the way she was staring in their direction, but Clarke couldn't pinpoint what it was. "Maggie, tell Lexa to get out. Three men and a woman just pulled up in suits. They're—"

"Relax, kid, we're the cavalry," a French accent suddenly came through loud and clear from her earwig.

Mr Mohawk turned towards them, touching his fingers to his lips and giving a wink.

"Hey, Mars," Luna's voice sounded in Clarke's ear.

The cavalry? Maggie hadn't told her about any cavalry. Screw it, if the cavalry were going in then so was she. She wasn't going to just let Lexa risk her life on her own for a group of people they didn't know and had no loyalty to. Clarke ditched her cap on the table and freed her long blonde hair from the scrunchie, adjusting her jacket to conceal the insanely uncomfortable shoulder holster and the small Glock it held.

_Find Lexa. Rescue Lexa. Help a group of old men. Okay. I can do this._ She strode forward, checking both ways before crossing and walking straight into the hotel. So long as she made it look as if she knew where she was going, no one would bother her. _Move like Gunnar on the pirate ship, just like Maggie said._ She didn't know what'd happened on the ship, but apparently Gunnar moved like a fucking champ, and so would she.

_Room #521,_ Maggie's voice sounded in her ear as she stepped into the elevator. The card reader sat idle above the buttons. Would she have to — Normally they only enforced card access at night, so maybe she could just...

"You're on the rescue team, right, kid?" the woman from the car spoke, her French accent registering in Clarke's mind a full thirty seconds later. She swiped a card and pushed the button for the fifth floor, giving a polite smile.

"Uh, yeah, guess you could call it that, but don't call me kid, please. I'm twenty-three."

"Jesus," the woman muttered. "Do yourself a favour, then. Get out of the mercenary business while you're still intact, and while you still have a soul."

Clarke noted her glass left eye and swallowed. That explained the cold stare. She was missing an eye . . . and part of her right leg, the metal exposed just between where her pant leg met her shoe. "What do you mean?"

"After five years, you stop caring about the casualties. The job becomes the focus. Sooner or later, you stop caring about life in general. Keep your girlfriend safe, and get her out of the business before she loses her soul too."

"I don't—"

"Pride ring, right hand," the woman coughed into her fist, wiggling her own left index finger.

Clarke hadn't noticed the ring, but if she had, she would've just assumed it was an engagement ring. She could _just_ see an engraving on it, and a faint worn rainbow. _Bi Bi Baby,_ the engraving read. She smiled, not even suppressing it as the elevator dinged and they arrived at the fifth floor. The doors slid open just as a knife went whistling past. A groan, then a thud as a body hit the floor.

"Happy new year, motherfuckers," the woman murmured before she paused and drew a Desert Eagle from a concealed holster. "Man, I've been spending too much time with Doc."

"It's all under control, Clarke," Lexa shouted. "Just two more—"

"You first," the woman gestured.

"Men," Clarke muttered before stepping out of the elevator and turning to the right with her sidearm drawn and safety off. She aimed and squeezed the trigger, internally flinching as one of the men fell sideways. _While you still have a soul._ The words echoed in her head as she watched Lexa take down the last man before pulling a card free from the corpse's waistband. _Keep your girlfriend safe._

"Tell me about it," the woman sighed, strolling past Clarke. "If Gunnar gets his ass caught again, I'm going to hang him with his damn pirates."


	2. Chapter 2

"We are moving from point A to point B in a metal box that flies. There is nothing stopping us from falling except the engines, because _nothing_ can defy gravity forever," Galgo said, going into one of his tangents again. For the past hour and a half, all they'd heard was the Spaniard ramble on about whatever popped into his brain. Barney — their faithful and ever-aging leader — had bought another piece of shit with a broken altimeter, not to mention what looked like dents from bullets in the ramp itself. The plane was staying in the sky at the moment, but it was true Galgo's faith rested more with God than a man who looked like he could drop dead at a moment's notice. Barney just loved to go kamikaze with his planes apparently, and dangle everyone onboard in the face of death.

"Belle's foot will defy gravity when I detach it and shove it up your ass, Galgo," Gunnar deadpanned.

Lexa shook her head, trying hard not to laugh aloud. What was with these guys? They'd just been rescued from certain death at the hands of some psycho and here they were talking about death, dying, and putting prosthetics up asses. She sighed, reaching across and linking her fingers with Clarke's. The mission was done, she'd been given a chance to wash the blood spatter from her face, and now they were heading back to New Orleans. It'd just be a quick pitstop before they flew back to Washington DC and caught up with the rest of their own team. A free meal of hot gumbo and rice sounded pretty good.

"We should quit while we're ahead," Clarke murmured, glancing up over the seats and watching as the brunette with her now-empty left eye socket stood. She could just read their lips, something about needing air, and things being a little cramped. Well, there were thirteen of them onboard, plus cargo.

"This is our job, Clarke. We're good at this. We've even got the makings of a team. You, me, Octavia, Lincoln, Indra, Anya."

"But is it a job you'd want to do for the rest of your life? We kill people with one hand then help them with the other."

"It's just a job, and having a moral compass won't help. We'll have two million set aside after this. Let's just build it up to five and if you still want to quit next year, we'll quit."

She'd never told anyone about the nightmares that'd started right after her very first nine month tour of Afghanistan ended, but walking away from Bellamy and all the other jarheads last year had been the right choice _for her._ Some nights she'd lay in bed long after they'd had sex and Lexa had fallen asleep, staring at the walls and remembering Jasper's yells of agony when they'd struck IED. When the shrapnel had lodged itself in his back and Bellamy said there was _nothing_ she could do. That feeling of helplessness was one she never wanted to experience again.

"I'm going to hang up the rifle once we get back, tell Indra I owe her, and go home."

Lexa took Clarke's hand in hers, squeezing it and looking her girlfriend in the eyes. There was something she was missing, a burden Clarke was keeping to herself. A burden she should've been sharing. They were in love, damn it, and the blonde beauty in front of her with that faint strip of freckles across her nose and cheeks was holding something back.

"To Billy," Barney suddenly shouted, gesturing from the cockpit door with a beer bottle in one hand. Everyone without fail repeated the words. It'd been three years, and the Kid's ghost still haunted him. "You deserved better, kid, and to . . . " he hesitated, eyes focusing on the floor, "to Yang. You want more money for your son? Go work at a grocery store."

"To family," Luna said from behind them.

"To not having to see your ugly faces for a month," Belle shouted.

"Cheers to that," Doc grinned. "To all the men we lost over the years . . ."

"To Billy," Barney said again. "All the lives we could've saved."

"What is it?" Lexa said quietly, watching a stray tear run down Clarke's cheek. She leaned across, pressing her lips to the blonde's and running her fingers through her hair. "You can talk to me, y'know, even if it's yelling at me because I accidentally overfed your goldfish."

"I can't stay in this life," Clarke murmured. "I thought I was good, but â€” and then Maggie told me about Billy and . . . I'm sorry."

Billy the Kid. He'd been two years older than Clarke, another ex-soldier who'd taken up a job with the Expendables. Everything had been great, until they did a job for Church and crossed paths with the wrong asshole. Billy was captured, dangled in front of them, and then a knife was kicked into his heart. He'd been engaged to a beautiful woman, constantly writing her letters telling her how much he loved her.

The point of the story, Maggie said, was that the mercenary life wasn't for young people so much as the walking dead. People who had no real purpose in life anymore, who dragged their ghosts behind them and wore their pain like armour, were the ones who continued to live. The young mercenaries — the ones who deserved to live — died faster than the old ones, and if they didn't within the first decade, it was only a matter of time.

Lexa nodded slowly, shoulders slumping as she slipped an arm around Clarke. Maggie had told her about Billy too, and Stonebanks. Romania, Vilena, Vilain . . . even a five minute story about a woman who'd been thrown into Gitmo, locked away, and tortured to breaking point. In essence, the world was not kind to romantics. Love was a risk, and sooner or later that unkindness would find them. "Okay. Soon as we get back to DC, I'll talk to Indra."


End file.
